


The Most Human Color

by SunflowerZombieMouse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids purr to cope with emotions, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Explicit Language, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hank is a pretty good dad, Hurt/Comfort, Markus might also be OOC whoops, Minor Character Death, Other, Purry AU, Recovering alcoholics (Hank), Second chapter tags -->, Sumo is a good dog, bullshit science terms, for now everything (especially Connor) hurts :), original characters for the sake of world building, possibly OOC for Hank? not entirely sure, the comfort will come in later chapter(s), they also growl and hiss but purring is the main one, this is /way/ more angsty than the purring would have you believe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16764814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerZombieMouse/pseuds/SunflowerZombieMouse
Summary: Connor knows he shouldn't purr. Hank doesn't want him to, so he doesn't want to. So then why does it hurt so much?In other news, I can't do summaries. Just know that androids purr and Connor is punishing himself because of habits ingrained into him by Amanda that he expects Hank to follow as well.





	1. A Gallery of Broken Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Static](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16703785) by [sky_blue_hightops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops). 



> This was born of a conversation on discord where in an alternate timeline, instead of the couch conversation and fluff and hugs, Connor internalizes the "can't purr hank will be mad at me" and angst ensues. At least two of us from there are doing this, but I'm not sure how many more.
> 
> Chapter title taken from the song "Be OK" by Ingrid Michealson and the fic title is taken from the song "Blue Lips" by Regina Spektor.

_“Yeah, well . . . it’s just ― it’s wrong. Creeps me out.”_

The words echoed in Connor’s head as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. His LED was flickering between yellow and red, with tiny glints of blue peeking through, cycling again and again. His chest hurt. Badly. His throat hurt, too, where his purr modulator ― that wasn’t its official name, but Connor had heard that used for it so many times he’d just started using it in his head ― was nestled amongst a bunch of other wires and biocomponents. He wanted to purr, to growl, to hiss, to _something._ Anything to stop the aching, stabbing burn behind his throat and seeping through his chest. But Hank ― if Hank heard ― he hated it, hated that androids did it, thought it was wrong, bad, creepy. Connor couldn’t purr. Hank wouldn’t like it.

He closed his eyes and plucked at his shirt ― a gift from Hank for Christmas. One of many, actually. This one was a dark blue turtleneck that had the words “Ray of Sunshine” patterned across the front in gold. It was soft. The sleeves were at the right length, which they had discovered to be difficult to find. Since all of Connor’s clothes before the revolution had consisted of his CyberLife suit ~~and the clothes he’d stolen while looking for Jericho,~~ long-sleeved shirts made by other companies were either too short or too long for him to wear comfortably. But this was a good fit. Hank had a good eye for that sort of thing.

A rumble threatened to rise up and spill out of his lips. He ground his teeth together, winced at the small groan they gave at the pressure. Connor couldn’t purr, not while he was living with Hank. Sumo whined outside the door, and Connor jumped. It was early; too early for the lieutenant to be up. Sumo must have woken up because of the light in the bathroom.

“Hush, Sumo,” Connor whispered. He didn’t think it would do much good, but he said it anyway. The big dog whined again and thumped his tail against the floor, but otherwise was silent. “Good boy.”

Then he turned back to the mirror, took in a deep breath ~~that he didn’t really need,~~ and raised the knife to his throat. He closed his eyes shut, tight tight tight.

_For Hank,_ he told himself. Connor started cutting and ignored the warning signals that swarmed frantically into his vision.

* * *

He didn’t sleep after taking it out, there was no point ― androids didn’t get tired. Most didn’t. That included Connor ~~it didn’t.~~ Well, some deviants got tired. But he still wasn’t part of that camp ~~he was.~~ The modulator had been tossed out in a little trash bag before Hank was awake and moving, the blue blood that had dripped onto the sink wiped up and scrubbed out. He had been careful. Purring would upset Hank, but so would seeing a mess of thirium first thing in the morning. Connor noticed the change almost immediately; it still hurt, residual pain from removing it, but the urge to purr and nuzzle and show his teeth was largely _gone._ That was good. Now he wouldn’t have to worry about disappointing Hank. He went about the day smiling more than normal and disregarding Detective Reed’s comments. This surprised Hank (and the detective), but he didn’t comment on it aside from grinning and shaking his head. Gradually, the pain from where the modulator would have been faded away. He felt ― _clearer_ than he had in weeks, in months, even, ever since that conversation at Stratford Tower.

* * *

He woke up ― well, “woke up” from stasis mode ― the next morning feeling completely _painless._ It’s such a foreign feeling that at first he doesn’t recognize it. But there he was ― no urge to purr, no prompt in the bottom of his vision to nuzzle up against Hank’s shoulder to show affection, and no pain rasping up to tell him _no._ He shivered with the freedom of it.  
It was only at the end of the day that he felt a slight twinge in his throat, a vague sort of instinct that made him stiffen for a moment. But then it passed and he dismissed it ― nothing to worry about. A wrong diagnostic. It would be fine ― it wasn’t like it would happen again. He’d taken away the source of it.

* * *

It happened again.

* * *

Connor should have known it wouldn’t last long; not many good things did, aside from Hank ~~which was why he needed to _stop purring_~~ and Sumo. He had discovered a new dilemma with the removal of his modulator ― he suddenly couldn’t deal with emotions nearly as well as before. Everything was _now, insistent, important_ / and he just ― gah. He didn’t like it at all. It was overwhelming how everything he felt had to be addressed _right then and there_ like it was the most important thing in the world. Like he didn’t have more important things to do. Such as his job. But because he felt so ― volatile, he supposed was the right word, he snapped. At everyone. Again, it shocked Hank, this time enough to ask him what was going on.  
“Nothing, Lieutenant.” Connor refused to look at him. “I’m fine.”  
“Horse shit,” Hank muttered, but dropped the topic.  
Thankfully, nothing else happened until later when they were heading home; Detective Reed went too far in insulting Hank’s drinking habits, even though anyone and everyone who bothered to pay attention knew he was so much better about not losing himself at the bottom of a glass. Connor shoved him against the wall, eyes narrowed and his LED glaring yellow.  
“Watch it, Detective,” he muttered through gritted teeth. The man only stared at him, eyes wide with shock.  
“Connor!” Hank sounded ― upset. He was upset. Connor let go of Detective Reed’s collar and stepped back. “Come on, we’re going home.” Connor didn’t move. “I said, we’re going home!”  
The drive was . . . tense. Neither of them spoke, and Hank hadn’t turned his music on. Connor fished in his pocket for the coin to flip when they got out of the car ― it wasn’t a purr, but it was better than nothing and he could do that without bothering Hank too much except it wasn’t in his jacket. Connor had a moment of gratitude that his LED was on the side facing away from Hank, because the man couldn’t see it cycling red for a split second. Then he started thinking back; he’d definitely had it last night, and that morning. Definitely. He’d checked in all his pockets for things picked up over the course of the day (even if it was usually nothing), and it had been right in his breast pocket where he always put it while getting ready for the day. He couldn’t have ― but he had taken the jacket off, to better clean it of the dirt he’d picked up crawling through a rusty old pipe. Hank ― Hank was upset, he must have taken it. ~~_You’re starting to piss me off with that coin, Connor!_~~ But. No. But nothing. If Hank was mad at him, he had every right to be. Connor must have gone too far earlier, crossed a line somewhere. He didn’t ― this wasn’t. It was fine. He was fine.

* * *

~~He wasn't fine.  
~~

* * *

It was bright, breezy, and there were barely any clouds to be seen. Connor wondered why it was always the most beautiful days that brought out the worst cases. He and Hank had been assigned to a case of serial android murders. All of them would have been construction workers before the revolution, which suggested a sort of twisted revenge plot. They were at the crime scene; behind a pretty little flower shop, run by an old blind woman who was absolutely devastated at the loss of her friend (Andrew).  
“He was such a sweet man,” she said, sniffling and rubbing at a crystal attached to a cord looped around her neck. “He ― always so polite, and he loved the girls, to play with them and make up stories with them, and . . .” She had to pause to blow her nose. “I don’t understand,” she whispered into her hand. “I don’t understand, how ― how could anyone hate such a good person?”  
“I don’t know,” Connor said truthfully. He didn’t ― for all he was supposed to be the latest and greatest of CyberLife’s work from pre-revolution, he didn’t know and ~~_it hurt._~~ He stepped away to examine the evidence. He didn’t know _why,_ but he knew he could stop these sorts of things from happening again. It was what he had been built for. Andrew’s body was still there, propped up against the wall in a crude imitation of sleep. There was a difference between human and android bodies after death, Connor had noticed; both were unnaturally still, but androids seemed . . . _frozen._ It was frightening.  
He was about to turn away and examine the rest of the alleyway more thoroughly when he caught sight of something glinting in the android’s neck. His thirium pump stuttered. The murderer hadn’t been clean about it at all; part of Andrew’s head had been smashed in, the skin on his shoulders torn away and discarded on the ground. His legs were missing and the wires there sparked from time to time. His clothes were filthy, like he’d been dragged around before he was killed. There was no rhyme or reason to it, no pattern except anger. There hadn’t been any weapons around, so Connor had assumed the murderer left with them in tow ― but right at the base of his neck, just above his collarbone, a small knife handle jutted out. Where the purr modulator was.  
Connor didn’t register Hank calling his name until the lieutenant shook his shoulder. “Hey, kid, look at me!” That was ― that was ― _look at Hank._ He turned, stiff and jerky. Hank was frowning. “What happened? You ok?”  
Connor opened his mouth to assure Hank that he was fine, there was nothing to worry about. There was a pause. Static. And then Connor blacked out.


	2. Always Time for Second Guesses (I Don't Wanna Know)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet resolution! Also a surprise appearance by Markus.
> 
> chapter title from the song Collar Full by Panic! At The Disco (i could be wrong i'm in the middle of a brain fart)

Jericho ― the boat ― had been blown up about a year ago when the whole androids-are-thinking-feeling-people-too-you-fleshy-assholes thing started, but Jericho ― what was now a community art workshop ― had been rebuilt. What’s-his-face had insisted on it ― Markus. He’d bought the buildings needed and invited a whole bunch of homeless androids to join him in making the places habitable until fairer laws could be made and enacted about living spaces for them. It was beautiful, in a certain way, Hank had to admit ― but he wasn’t there to sight see. He was there to help Connor.  
Which would be a lot easier if the doctor would just _let him in._ No, he didn’t know why Connor had collapsed, but this was his son (he had adoption papers to prove it ― Connor was technically _one._ One year old!). Wasn’t it policy to let family members in? But apparently, Hank had to sit outside the room and wait and hope it would be fine. This was starting to feel much too close to another―  
_I need a drink,_ he thought grumpily. Then he dismissed it, because he’d promised Connor he’d wait for the weekend to drink. Then he thought it again, because something was wrong with his son and he _couldn’t help._ This fucking sucked absolute balls.  
“Hello,” someone said in a tone that was probably supposed to be reassuring but really did nothing at all to help soothe the lieutenant’s frayed nerves. If anything, it just made them worse.  
Hank narrowed his eyes at the android standing in front of him ― Markus. He kept forgetting the man’s name. “Hi,” he said curtly. Markus looked ― awkward, if Hank was going to be completely honest. That was just fine with him. Hank wasn’t here to make nice. “What is it?”  
“I heard Connor collapsed,” Markus said, an undercurrent of something else in his voice. There was that damn purr again, and at a time like this. “Do you know if he’s alri―”  
_“No,”_ Hank snapped, harder than he meant to. Markus’ shoulders stiffened. Hank sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. _God, I want a goddamn drink._ And then he wanted to yell Connor’s ass into next week for making him worry like this. “Look, I’m sorry, just ― they haven’t let me in to see him, so I really just―” He stopped and rubbed at his face again. “I have no idea.”  
Markus nodded, eyes downcast. _Oh yeah,_ Hank thought. They knew each other. He hadn’t realized they were friends, but oh well. No time like the present to learn these sorts of things. Markus gestured to the bench Hank was sitting on. “May I―?”  
“Knock yourself out,” Hank said.  
Markus nodded again in thanks and sat down. It was just silence for a while, save for Hank’s tapping against his knee and Markus’ even, measured breaths that had to be manufactured for human comfort. “I could probably get you permission to be in the room,” Markus said suddenly. Hank jumped and swore. “Sorry. But people still see me as the ‘leader’ of Jericho ― it wouldn’t be too hard to pull rank, even if it’s largely gone now.”  
“You couldn’t have mentioned that before you sat down?” Hank stood. “Come on, then, let’s go.”  
“Of course.” Markus followed Hank, the skin on his hand melting away to white as he passed the lieutenant and pressed it to the lock on the door. That was something entirely unique about this Jericho: none of the doors could be unlocked by a human hand. You had to be an android to get them open or closed.  
“Ah ― I’m sorry, you can’t be in ― Markus?” The android who stopped them just inside the door blinked owlishly at Markus. “What are you doing here?”  
“Connor is my friend,” Markus said. “We want ― would it be alright to see him?”  
“Well . . .” she hesitated, eyes flicking between them and the curtain behind her. “Alright. But he hasn’t been talking much.” She shook her head. “ Though I suppose he _can’t,_ at the moment, we’ve only just now gotten his voice box back in where it should be . . .”  
“Back _in?”_ Hank demanded, alarmed. “Why’d you need to take it out in the first place?”  
“Because he cut out his purr modulator,” a new voice cut in. Hank and Markus peered around the curtain to see an android that looked much more worn and ― well, _older_ than all the others focused on Connor’s neck. Connor himself looked ― tense, upset, like he was expecting to be reprimanded ― more harshly than just a lecture. “Don’t know why, honestly,” the doctor continued as she looked up and leaned away from Connor. “But he did and so we had to smush everything in places they shouldn’t’ve been for the moment to keep everything where they _should_ be for the long run.” She gave a gentle little pat to Connor’s shoulder. “All done now,” she said to him kindly.  
“Thank you, doctor,” Markus said when it was clear Hank had nothing to say on the matter. She nodded. “I can see about your payment . . .” Markus trailed off when she shook her head.  
“No,” she said firmly. “No, I’m fine without it at the moment. Don’t need any new equipment, don’t need to buy groceries, and I’m all good on thirium. Besides, Connor’s a friend of yours ― I wouldn’t charge him.” Then she grinned. “I’ll just fleece the next person who walks in here complaining of fractures in their thirium lines.”  
Markus made a face. Hank had no idea what that meant, but given that the doctor seemed more annoyed by it than anything, he didn’t ask.  
“C’mon, Connor,” he said gruffly. Connor stood slowly, keeping his gaze on the ground, and joined them by the door.  
“Stay safe,” the doctor said. “And don’t cut anything out again!”  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
God, even Connor’s voice was subdued. Markus gave Hank a concerned look over Connor’s head. Hank shook his and mouthed ‘I’ll tell you later’. Markus didn’t seem very satisfied with that, but let it go without much fuss.  
“How do you feel?” He asked Connor gently. There was a purr behind his words, meant to reassure, but Hank looked away. “Stiff anywhere? I had to replace my voice box a while ago and I couldn’t talk very well for a little bit after.”  
“I’m fine.” Connor didn’t sound very fine ― he sounded raspy and tense, like he was still waiting for a punishment. Hank’s heart hurt. “Thank you for asking.”  
“Of course.” Markus patted Connor’s shoulder. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

* * *

In the car, Hank didn’t want to turn on the music; it would be too loud for either of them at the moment. But Connor looked like he needed something to fill the silence, so he flicked the radio on instead. It was a pop country station.  
“Blech,” Hank muttered, and started switching through stations. Most of them were stuck on ads or talk stations, neither of which he liked at all.  
“Lieutenant?” Connor asked after a minute or so of watching him.  
“Hmm?”  
“Aren’t you mad at me?”  
Hank gave up and dropped his hand with a sigh, tapping a finger on the wheel. The light in front of them was red. “No,” he said finally. “I was, at first. You scared the hell outta me, kid.” Connor flinched and looked away. “But mostly I’m just relieved you’re ok.”  
“. . . Oh,” Connor said, sounding very small.  
Hank felt pretty small himself.

* * *

“Connor.”  
Connor turned to face him, LED blinking yellow. “Yes, Lieutenant?”  
Hank had to close his eyes against the sudden memory of Cole turning to him with the same exact puppy face ― _Yeah, dad?_ “Why did you cut out your purr box?” He asked eventually.  
Connor stiffened, and he looked away. He was sitting on the couch with Sumo ― and the dog knew full well he wasn’t supposed to be on the furniture, but hell if he ever stuck to that rule ― with perfect posture and everything. Sumo huffed at Connor as if to echo the question. “Because . . .” Connor rarely ever had to think about his words, but he was hesitating now. “You said ― at the tower, when Markus launched his broadcast. You said you hated when androids purr.”  
Hank’s heart dropped to his shoes. “Oh, Connor . . .”  
Connor stared resolutely at Sumo, petting the big dog’s ears and hunching his shoulders. “I didn’t want to upset you, so I started to repress mine. But then it started to be detrimental to my focus, so I thought if I took it away entirely, I ― Lieutenant?”  
Hank dropped down on the couch next to Connor and grabbed him by the shoulders for a hug. “I’m sorry,” Hank mumbled into Connor’s hair. “I’m just an old man with lots of problems, but you’re not one of them.”  
“But―” Connor sounded choked. Hank knew androids could cry ― he didn’t know how it worked, but he knew they could, and he knew what it sounded like when someone (human or not) was trying not to. “I thought―”  
“Connor, you shouldn’t _ever_ have to stop something that you like because of someone else,” Hank said firmly. “especially if it helps you.”  
Connor sniffled. “If you aren’t mad at me, then why did you take the coin?”  
Hank blinked. “The coin?”  
“Yes. I thought I upset you so you took away the coin I usually have.”  
Hank pulled back, confused. “I thought you put that on the washing machine lid.”  
Connor sort of . . . froze, like an old computer trying to reboot or get to a certain page with a bad connection. “Oh,” he said eventually. “I suppose I did.”  
Hank ruffled his hair. “Listen, I only took that away the first time because I was stressed. It’s pretty cool what you do with it, why would I take it away now?” Sumo _whuff_ ed in agreement.  
Connor blinked down at Sumo, then back up at Hank. “Cool, huh?” He said, a watery smile growing on his face. “I could probably teach you how, if you wanted.”  
Hank smiled and ruffled his hair again. “I’d love that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter won't be a proper chapter, I just stuck it there as a . . . just in case sort of thing. I might ramble about this story there, actually. Answer questions people have. I dunno.
> 
> Comments are love and criticism is welcome! (as long as it's, y'know. actual criticism. and not just complaining)

**Author's Note:**

> So; I've been given a deadline, and it's november, so there's a much higher chance of this being finished than there would be normally. So. Expect the next chapter sometime in the next few days.


End file.
